


And So Our Ways Part

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: daredevilkink, Gen, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt had always only had the best of intentions, but then one night, it all goes horribly wrong, and Karen has to pay the price. Not only can Matt not forgive himself, but Foggy can’t either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning Of The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enthusiasmgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ends of the Line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194882) by [enthusiasmgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/pseuds/enthusiasmgirl). 



> **Warning:** Major character death (don’t blame me, not my idea…)  
>  **Timeframe:** This takes place a few years into the future (after season 1), and we’ll also presume that by now, Karen knows that Matt is Daredevil.  
>  **Author's Note:** Okay, so I’m cheating a little bit with this one, because I’m trying to fill two daredevilkink meme prompts at the same time. Sneaky, I know. [Prompt no. 1](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1742.html?thread=3283918#cmt3283918) (Foggy whump, emotional h/c - Matt/Foggy or gen) was all about Foggy crying, [prompt no. 2](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=4734408#cmt4734408) (Sequel to Previous Fill - Karen's Death Ends Foggy and Matt's Friendship) was a bit more elaborate because it’s related on a 5+1 story called [“Ends of the Line”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4194882) that enthusiasmgirl wrote. The request was for Karen to have to pay a harsh price for something that Matt/Daredevil has done, which Foggy cannot forgive Matt for. Suffice to say, if you’re looking for fluff and schmoop, this probably isn’t for you. And that’s as enormous an understatement as they come. (PS: I know All Saints isn’t a real hospital. _Nurse Jackie_ fans will now perk their heads up. But, hey, at least it’s in Manhattan.)  
> 
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“Foggy,” he says into the phone, and his voice trembles.

“Matt?” Foggy sounds as if he just woke up, and probably he did.

Matt wants to hang up, because this is the phone call he never wanted to make. It’s his fault, and it’s all fallen apart, and he doesn’t know what to say, how to break the news. He’s tried to brace himself, but now all energy is draining from his body at record speed.

He realizes he’s been silent too long when Foggy repeats his name.

“Matt? What happened? Where are you?”

Screw this, he’ll have to tell Foggy eventually. And it had better come from him. “It’s Karen. She’s in a coma.”

“Coma? Shit. No. Where are you?”

“All Saints Hospital.”

“I’m on my way.”

Then Foggy disconnects the call, and Matt isn’t sure what to make of it. Foggy’s voice was panicked, but also strangely detached. Maybe it was the surprise speaking, the adrenaline, the shock. What had he expected, really?

He realizes he’s still clutching the phone, the plastic edges digging into the flesh of his palm. The smartphone clatters onto the seat of the plastic chair next to him when he releases his grip.

He lets his head sink into his hands, scrubs them over his tired face. It’s all his fault. His fault.

_His. Damn. Fault._

Somewhere deep inside him, there’d always been that voice nagging at his subconscious that one day, it would all go to hell. One day he’d mess up, and someone would have to pay the price.

It cuts deep that it had to be Karen. He can feel the adrenaline ebbing off, the realization taking its place. It’s sharp and ferocious and it hurts. It rips a hole into his heart, and wraps a clamp around his chest so hard he isn’t sure how to take his next breath.

Karen is lying in a hospital bed on this very floor, barely hanging on to life, machines breathing and pumping and living for her, and it’s all on him. He isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to live with that.

The minutes pass in increments of smells and sounds. Squeaking shoes across the linoleum. Phone conversations at the nurse’s station. Scuffing of shoes of visitors coming and going. The faint beeping of medical equipment. A full catheter bag that needs to be changed. It’s a festering melting pot of sickness, death and decay.

Matt tries to fight the overwhelming nausea, tries to find Karen’s heartbeat, but he can’t make it out amidst the chaos. The medical machinery could be disrupting her normal pattern, so maybe her heartbeat isn’t even really hers. It frightens him, the unease eating ragged edges into his already frayed nerves.

He isn’t sure how long it takes until there’s a familiar element, the rhythm of steps he knows, the recognizable hint of Foggy’s aftershave, then his voice.

“Matt. Where is she? How is she doing?”

He gets up, unsure what to do with his hands. Foggy stands close, but not close enough. There was a time when Foggy would have just stepped right into his safe zone and drawn him into a hug to soak up all the uncertainty and worry and sorrow. But not anymore. There’s a carefully constructed, invisible wall made of vigilante decision-shaped bricks between them now.

Matt motions to the ICU doors. “She’s on life support. In there. That’s all I know. I don’t think it’s looking very good.”

“What happened?”

“She was assaulted. Physically.” It makes him sick just thinking about it, and he has to swallow. “There’s multiple broken bones, brain damage.”

“Jesus,” Foggy hisses under his breath. He sinks into one of the cheap plastic chairs. He lifts his head and looks at Matt. “This wasn’t some random mugging, was it?”

Matt doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t want to say it. “I don’t know, Foggy.”

“Did you find her?”

Matt nods.

“As Daredevil?”

He nods again.

“Who did this to her?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure. They were gone by the time I got there.”

“And then what?”

“What do you think? I called 911, made sure she was being treated and taken to safety as quickly as possible.”

“And then you went home to change in your own sweet time while Karen was fighting for her life?” It sounds bitter and accusing.

“What was I supposed to do?”

Foggy lifts his arms in resignation. “I don’t know. Protect her? You’re fucking Daredevil. How could you let this happen?”

Matt’s forehead furrows, but it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself that same question over and over in the past hour. It’s not exactly like he was slacking, either. He had a reason—a good one. Not good enough, though.

“I was saving a pregnant teenager from an abusive mother. I didn’t hear it—or heard it too late. Foggy, I wish… I should have been there in time. I shouldn’t have missed it. Not Karen.”

“Every day, you put your life on the line for random strangers. And then it’s Karen, and you’re just… not there in time? What kind of fucked up poetic justice is that?”

Matt lowers his head. Maybe he had it coming, maybe this is part of his penance. The devil coming to claim his soul, piece by piece. Maybe he deserves every little bit of this.

Foggy gets up from the chair. “I’m gonna find someone to talk to.”

He comes back ten minutes later, and Matt can practically see the shell-shock etched in face. Foggy swallows hard.

“Any news?” Matt asks meekly.

“Like you said, it doesn’t look good. They said we’d be lucky if she lives through the night. Have you called anyone? Her parents?”

He nods. “They’re flying in from Vermont.”

A nurse in blue scrubs strides over in quick steps, looks around. “Anyone here for Karen Page?”

Both Foggy and Matt get up. She asks if they’re relatives, and Foggy easily lies and says he’s her brother. Matt is too stunned to really come up with anything helpful or coherent. The nurse lets Foggy into the ICU to see Karen.

He comes out again after a quarter of an hour, and if anything, his turmoil is even more pronounced. He stands in front of Matt, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He doesn’t say anything other than a forcibly whispered, “Shit.”

Then he turns around and just walks away. Matt gets up, follows Foggy’s trail. It leads to a balcony overlooking the backstreets of Manhattan. Foggy has his arms braced against the railing, his shoulders, his everything slumped.

“Foggy,” Matt says softly.

His friend whips around, and his voice cuts like a sharp-edged knife. “Jesus, Matt, have you _seen_ her? I mean… do you know what they did to her? What she looks like?”

Matt shakes his head, because of course he hasn’t seen her. He can imagine, yes, and his senses tell him things, but he hasn’t asked for the details, and is afraid to paint his own mental picture. “No,” he says in a low voice.

Foggy’s voice hovers somewhere between anger and a dangerous breaking point near devastation. “She’s been beaten to a bloody pulp. You can barely recognize her face. It’s a miracle she’s even still alive. Skull fracture, broken ribs, jaw. What they did to her, she must have—“

His voice breaks there, and Matt knows he’s trying to hold back tears. Foggy shifts, shuffles his feet, wrings his hands. There’s a sound getting stuck in Foggy’s throat that Matt has never heard, and it scares him.

His voice is thick and wet, and he’s crying now. “I watched her die, Matt. She coded right there, in front of my eyes. They shocked her back to life, but she was dead. For a minute, her heart stopped fucking beating.”

His voice breaks again, and he sags to the floor, his back against the balcony railing. The sensations come at Matt all at once. The salty pang of tears, heartbreaking sobs, the thunder of Foggy’s heavy heartbeat, the sounds of the city above it all.

He edges closer, unsure what to do. They’re in such a complicated place these days, and nothing seems to feel right anymore. It hasn’t for quite a long a time.

Matt never says a word, just sits down beside his friend, scoots as close as he will get until their bent knees touch. Tears spring to his own eyes, but he refuses to give in to them. He pushes his knee against Foggy’s a little more forcibly. The sobs increase in force and frequency, and Matt can feel them violently tearing through Foggy’s body. Eventually, they lessen—minutes and hours and years of their lives later.

With a wet sniff, Foggy wipes the tears from his eyes, fighting against the aftershock of the last sobs that hitch in his chest. He doesn’t reach out, their only physical contact the leg-to-leg connection Matt initiated. Foggy breaks even that by moving his leg slightly away from Matt.

Matt’s brows knit in concern and a certain kind of pain that goes deep. But, yeah, maybe he deserves this. Quite possibly, he does.

It takes another minute or two for Foggy to compose himself, and Matt lingers quietly. Eventually, his friend turns to him. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Matt hesitates, because he doesn’t want to say it out loud. But Foggy’s going to find out anyway, he’ll only delay the inevitable. And then it’s gonna be so much worse.

Foggy repeats himself, his voice suddenly just a little too panicky. “Matt? Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I think they might have used Karen to get to me.”

Foggy shifts his position to face him. There’s a growl to his voice, and Matt flinches. “You better start talking. Now.”

Reluctantly, Matt does. How the human trafficking ring he’s been trying to bust for half a year has been coming after Daredevil. How they tried to find out what his true identity is. How they got too close, started looking into Nelson & Murdock. And how he confided in Karen, how she very willingly agreed to be his bait so that the Daredevil version of Matt could lure them out and squash their criminal activities once and for all.

And how it went very, _very_ wrong.

Foggy’s breath comes out in a ragged staccato by the time Matt finishes. His heart is racing angrily in his chest, and Matt can practically feel the fury directed at him. Foggy all but jumps to a standing position, and Matt follows suit.

He wishes Foggy would punch him already, because he’s earned every bit of it. He wants a physical reminder. Needs one more than anything. He can barely suppress the urge to slam his fist right into the nearest wall.

Foggy’s voice is icily cold and detached when he says, “I don’t want to see you anymore. You have lost the right to be here. So go. And don’t come back.”

Something breaks in Matt’s heart with a finality that crushes any hope he may have ever had for a reconciliation between them. All he can squeeze out is a pained, “I’m sorry.” He isn’t even sure Foggy can hear it.

It’s the last he sees of his friend for over a month.

Karen hangs on for almost four weeks. Matt gets his updates via phone from the hospital, pretending to be Karen’s brother calling from Europe. He even fakes a hint of a British accent, because he’s talked to Karen’s brother on the phone once. Nathan Page has been living in London for the better part of a decade, happily married to an English dental hygienist. Matt tries to remember not to call the hospital at odd time zone hours.

During all that time, Foggy never once comes back to the office. Matt finds Foggy’s office room cleared of all of Foggy’s belongings the morning after they separated at the hospital. That day, Matt leans against the doorframe and cries, pounds his fist against the wall until his knuckles bleed and the wall has an unmistakable dent. Without Foggy and Karen, the office is as empty as his life.

And then one day, he calls the hospital, and hears the words he never wanted to hear. “We’re very sorry, Mr. Page, but your sister passed away this morning.”

He can’t remember what he said in response, or if he even kept up the fake accent. Everything becomes a blur from thereon out. He eats, sleeps (just barely), functions. Life loses its meaning. He doesn’t take any more cases after that, but he patrols Hell’s Kitchen every single night.

His principle of never killing anyone becomes a farce. He doesn’t care anymore, punches and kicks and lashes out with unbridled fury. Different criminals, same outcome. He kills it as Daredevil, perhaps quite literally before long. Who ever knows?

Matt isn’t invited to Karen’s funeral, and he suspects Foggy had something to do with that. It’s Brett who tells him about it, and Matt knows he can’t _not_ go.

That morning, he rolls out of bed with a groan, slamming down on his alarm clock more forcefully than the plastic button deserves. “Seven thirty AM,” it mocks him. He wants to hurl it across the room. His ribs ache from a nightly encounter with another petty thug of little importance.

He stands in front of his wardrobe for a long time, his fingers running over the faintly scratchy material of the different suits in his collection. It’s been so long since he’s worn one. He can’t remember which shirt has which color, but it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like he owns anything that wouldn’t be appropriate for a funeral. Foggy used to chastise him for his exanimate color palette.

Foggy.

He will be there, and Matt isn’t sure he can face him. There’s so much he wants to say to him. Wants to apologize until his throat is hoarse. Wants to turn back time and unmake history. The mornings where he wakes up from a dream with Karen in it are the worst, because she’s dead every single time when reality slams into him with brutal force.

He shakes his head and berates himself with one of the many swear words he never used to use. He yanks the dark gray suit out, and a shirt he’s fairly sure is white. There’s a skinny black tie with diagonal pinstripes he picks, and he knows because it’s got that label on the back with the raised letters that are stitched into it.

He combs his hair and hopes for the best, biting back tears because he remembers that Karen asked him about that when they first met. He told her he’d give anything to see the sky one more time. He’d give twice as much to undo that day Karen was attacked.

Matt leaves his apartment with a heavy heart, his feet feeling like they’re moving through molasses.

Everything about this seems wrong, and he has a sudden urge to go by the church that he hasn’t visited in weeks. Confession had become meaningless, because there was no redemption for him now. He dismisses the notion as quickly as it had surfaced.

The yellow cab drops him at the back entrance to the cemetery, and he tentatively ambles closer to where the congregation has already gathered. He half hides in the shadows behind trees and tombstones.

The eulogy is beautiful and fitting, but he doesn’t cry. He has no more tears left to spare. Foggy’s heart is as heavy as his own, and Matt’s breath hitches in his chest for the briefest of moments. Foggy’s tears are raw and sincere, and they cut into Matt’s heart with a fierceness he hadn’t expected.

How the hell did they get here?

 

**Continued in...**

[Ends of the Line – The Funeral](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4194882/chapters/9475488)

by [enthusiasmgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/enthusiasmgirl/pseuds/enthusiasmgirl)

They are alone. The funeral is over, and the crowd of people hovering around the open grave site have dispersed.

Tentatively, Matt makes his way over to where his friend stands, silently sobbing and shaking. He puts a hand out to touch Foggy's shoulder and comfort him, but Foggy recoils like he's been struck.

"Don't you dare touch me!" Foggy says coldly. "You stay the hell away from me."

"Foggy..." Matt says, his voice trembling. "I loved her too, you know."

"Did you?" Foggy says bitterly. "Because I don't think you did. I think you used her, like you use everyone, for your own ends. She worshiped you, you know. Respected you. Wanted you, even. And I don't think you even ever really considered her aside from what she could do for you."

"That is not true," Matt says, but he is interrupted by his former friend's fury as he is being shoved violently backwards and falls into the grass in an undignified heap.

"I told you!" Foggy screams in his direction, tears streaming down his face. "I TOLD YOU! I said that this would end badly for everyone, including us, but you never listen. Because you needed redemption. You needed to make yourself feel better about your shitty life. You couldn't stop listening to the sirens. And now, once again, someone else had to pay for your decisions, never you. Karen had to pay, Matt. She's gone," Foggy sobs, "and it's your fault. And you are going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. Without me. Because I'm done."

Foggy storms away towards the street, and Matt knows in his heart that it is really over. He is alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Funeral" by enthusiasmgirl was copy/pasted (and rewritten to present tense) here with her permission.


	2. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Karen's funeral wasn't the end of the line after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Author's Note:** Obviously I’m totally making this up. I’m not much of a comics person, and I haven’t actually read any of the Daredevil ones. Some of this is marginally rooted in comics canon, if the internet can be trusted. Most of it isn’t, I suspect. Please just indulge me, yeah? Huge thanks to F for the sanity check!
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

Matt hates the crutches. He wants to fling them into the nearest corner every time he hobbles awkwardly along the hospital hallway, but he’s learned that they’re a necessary evil.

The ten plus years of hunting criminals most nights of the week have taken their toll, and Matt’s not as young as he used to be. Then, six weeks ago, a particularly vicious kick to the knee made something snap, which turned out to be his meniscus.

It took a week for him to actually seek medical treatment, but the pain and swelling just wouldn’t lessen. He listened to the advice about surgery, then decided to go through with it when the doctors insisted long and hard enough that if he wanted his full range of motion again, it was his best option. He hated the hospital as much as he thought he would.

The knee brace restricts his range of movement, and he feels clumsy, and old, and twice as useless as anyone on crutches should feel. People are probably giving him stares, because how does a blind guy on crutches even navigate without a cane? He doesn’t care, he’s long given up trying to keep up appearances. People also usually leave him alone if the expression on his face is hostile enough.

He’s back here for a checkup, trying to dodge the smells, moans and misery as best as he can. His mind is miles away, but then he hears someone call his name.

“Matt?”

He stops dead in his tracks, because the voice is familiar, and the heartbeat and the smell is familiar, and yet Matt isn’t sure he’s ready to trust his senses on this one.

“Matt Murdock,” the voice repeats, and it’s unmistakable now.

“Foggy?”

He comes closer, and Matt realizes that he’s lost weight—a lot of it. His hair is short, and there’s something... off. He isn’t sure what it is.

Foggy lets out a little chuckle. “No one calls me that anymore. It’s Franklin now.”

“You always hated that name.”

“Yeah,” he says with a sigh to his voice, a sadness there he can’t deny. “A lot has changed since... you know.”

Doesn’t he know it? Rock bottom was the worst kind of hell he could imagine, and some days the chasm was deeper than he thought it could go.

Foggy harrumphs awkwardly. “So, uh, what happened here?” He points at Matt’s banged up knee.

“Occupational hazard,” Matt just says, and suddenly realizes that the last thing they need is a reminder of his vigilante activities.

“Yeah,” Foggy says maybe a bit too good-naturedly, “You’re getting too old for this crap, Murdock. Cause I’m guessing you’re not talking about the law firm.”

A corner of Matt’s mouth quirks up for the briefest of moments, but it’s more of a grimace than an attempt at a smile. “I gave the firm up a while ago.”

“Huh. Did you? So you doing the vigilante thing full time now? How does that earn you a living?”

“I mostly do consulting work. Gets the bills paid. How about you?”

Matt wants to laugh at the absurdity of them making small talk in a hospital hallway. He doesn’t.

“Just getting back on my feet. It’s, uh... been a rough year.”

He isn’t sure he should ask for details. Or wants to ask. It’s been seven years, is this even for real? Before he can, Foggy supplies the information. “With the radiation and the chemo and everything. I’m so ready to beat this crap.”

Matt’s forehead furrows into a frown. Foggy? Cancer? Shit. “Sorry to hear that,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, some kind of fucked up justice, huh?” Matt can tell from his heartbeat that there’s a lot more to it than deflective humor.

A long moment of awkward silence ensues. Matt isn’t sure what this is, what it’s going to be. He’s forgotten how to be around Foggy, what to say, how to react. No, not Foggy. _Franklin_ , he reminds himself.

But maybe Foggy hasn’t, because he’s the one to extend the olive branch. “We should catch up. I’m back in the city now. Do you still have your old phone number?”

This takes Matt off-guard, and he tries to string his memories together. He’s fairly sure he hasn’t changed his number since college. “Yeah, I... I think so.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll call you.” He might have sensed Matt’s hesitation, because he adds, “If you want to.”

Yes, absolutely yes, he very much does. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Foggy’s head bobs and up and down. “Okay. Well, then I suppose I’ll see you. Without crutches next time, hopefully.”

Matt’s too stunned to come up with an appropriate response. The, “See ya,” he mutters before Foggy’s walking away again rings hollow somehow.

It’s all Matt can do not to collapse where he stands. A million times he’s imagined their reunion, but never like this. He still can’t believe that, after seven years, Foggy would just reappear in his life. He doesn’t dare hope too much that he’ll actually call.

But he does. Two weeks later. They pick a café not far from Matt’s apartment as their meeting place, because he’s still not great with walking longer distances, and it’s actually a nice, halfway quiet place that Matt’s familiar and comfortable with. Neutral ground.

Foggy’s already there when Matt arrives. Matt quirks a smile when Foggy waves an arm at him, wondering what the other patrons might think of the person sending visual signals to the obviously blind guy.

“Hey, you made it,” Foggy greets him cheerfully.

“I did.”

Matt settles down in the chair and suppresses the groan he has on his lips. A perky, young waitress appears, and they order their caffeinated beverages of choice.

When she’s gone again, Matt’s hands involuntarily seek out something on the table to touch. His fingers find the edge of the laminated menu, and his fingertip absently runs along the edge of it. “So...” he says.

“So...” Foggy echoes. “Yeah, this is weird, right? How long has it been?”

“Seven years, give or take.”

“That’s a long time, dude.”

Matt can’t help but chuckle, but then sobers again. “Yeah. Too long.”

“Shit, man, where do we even start?” Foggy sighs.

Matt thinks he first needs to say something important, because this time he’s had time to prepare. Well, at least the basics. “Foggy, first of all, let me say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For this. This means a lot.”

Matt fully expects a flippant quip, a jovial remark. But there’s silence, and then a very sincere response. “Yeah, being faced with the very real possibility of ending up six feet under in the foreseeable future made me contemplate quite a lot of things. And this... us... how we left it... It somehow never sat right with me.”

“Believe me, if I could go back and—“

“No,” Foggy interrupts him. “Do me a favor, okay? Let’s not go there. I don’t wanna spend time on what ifs and reassigning blame. What happened to Karen was terrible, and we’ve both paid a hefty price. I think that’s quite enough. Don’t you?”

Matt just nods, a muscle in his chin quivering involuntarily. He grinds his jaw and hopes it’ll stop. “Yes,” he says, “Yes, I do.”

The waitress comes and places their drinks on the table. Foggy puts two sugars into his mug. The spoon clinks against the porcelain as he stirs it. He asks off-handedly, “So, are you still... you know... doing your thing?”

Matt shrugs half-heartedly and points at his knee. “Not right now. But, yeah. When I can.”

“Does it get any less volatile? The city?”

“No, not so much. Different. Less violent, more insidious. Takes a whole different kind of criminal these days.”

“Not ready to pass the torch?”

“To whom?”

Foggy shrugs. “I don’t know. Daredevil Jr.? No luck in that department?”

“No, not really.”

Foggy shakes his head incredulously. “You never change, Murdock. What is it with you?”

“And you? Are you still with Marci?”

“Marci? No. She was never marriage material. I met someone, and it was good for a few years, but then, you know, things started drifting apart, and, well, it didn’t last long after that. We have a son, though. He’s five. Well, almost six. Lives with his mother outside the city. I only see him every two weeks. Less often now, with the treatments and everything.”

“Yeah, what’s the story with that?”

“The cancer? They found a tumor in my hip—Ewing's sarcoma. Caught it early, if you can believe it. They hit it with everything they had. Went through six cycles of chemo, and, shit, that was the worst. They say it’s looking good now. But, you know, only time will tell.”

“Foggy, I hope you beat this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“And you, are you still a lawyer?” Matt asks.

“I was, up until the diagnosis. About to become senior partner in a small firm upstate, actually. Mostly custody and divorce cases. A medical compensation claim if we were lucky. To be honest, it was boring as shit.”

Matt gives him a smile. “Missing the city life, huh?”

“Yeah, man, you don’t know the half of it. If I stick around, maybe Nelson & Murdock could become a thing again...”

Matt swallows visibly. This throat is suddenly dry. “Do you actually mean that?”

Foggy’s heart rate goes up, and Matt can’t pinpoint why. Foggy clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry, that just slipped out.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” But it’s not. Matt wants his friend back. Desperately. Because all of this makes him realize so much more just how much he’s missed having a friend.

“Well,” Foggy smiles nervously, “One step at a time. And enough with the platitudes. Tell me what’s been going on with you.”

Matt’s been dreading this, because there aren’t a great many noteworthy things about his life. “Not much to tell. I gave up the practice a number of years ago. I started doing a little consulting work for the American Foundation for the Blind, and it kinda grew from there.”

“Do you still live in that apartment of yours?”

“Yeah. Prices have gone up, but I manage.”

“The humongous billboard still there?”

Matt smiles. “How would I know?”

Foggy grins back at him, and it feels a little bit like old times. “Knowing you, you’d probably hear the electrical hum from half a mile away.”

“That’s true, but the whole city is practically one big hum.”

“And that still seriously weirds me out.”

Matt’s smile turns a kind of bittersweet. Foggy never _did_ fully understand the full extent of Matt’s differentness.

Foggy probes a little further. “So in all those years, no one’s ever uncovered your identity?”

“Oh, there have been rumors. More than that. I always denied it, and no one could ever prove anything. Hasn’t happened for quite a while. Though I shouldn’t have said it. Probably jinxed it, for all I know.”

“Any more Fisks out there?”

Matt’s expression turns a shade darker. Too many.

“A few,” he comments vaguely, and leaves it at that.

It is then that Foggy’s cell phone goes off. He signals to Matt to give him a minute. Matt watches him walk away and tries very hard not to eavesdrop. He focuses on a discussion about computer games between two of the baristas instead.

When Foggy comes back, he gives him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but something’s come up and I gotta run. Are you free next weekend? You should come over, I’m having a get-together with some friends.”

Matt gets up from his chair to be at eye level. Well, face level. He isn’t sure what to make of the invitation. Too much, too soon? No, he dismisses the notion. He wanted this, didn’t he?

“Or not,” Foggy adds. Maybe Matt’s expression gave him away.

“No, it sounds great. Where and when?”

“Saturday, 7 pm?” Foggy suggests and gives him the address. It’s over in Brooklyn. Nice neighborhood, if he recalls correctly.

“Okay,” Matt agrees. “Looking forward to it.”

And he does.

+-+-+-+-+

Matt has never been comfortable around kids. They’re unpredictable, and even with the heightened senses, it’s sometimes hard to tell what they’re going to do at any given moment. Children’s heartbeats are erratic, and useless for detecting intent, goodwill, or malice.

He never dreamed of meeting Foggy’s son—not in this lifetime.

It didn’t happen overnight. He and Foggy, they’re still trying to re-chart their territory. They’ve done a lot of that in recent weeks; the meetings with friends, the one-on-ones, the careful dancing around the subjects better left unsaid—until they said them. There may have been yelling and tears and cautious hugs.

And so here he is, being introduced to the little munchkin as ‘my old friend Matt’. His name is Zale, and Zale is a little shy. Which Matt finds very odd, but perhaps it’s just as well that he seems to be the polar opposite of Foggy.

Foggy’s new apartment isn’t all that spacious, and Zale runs abashedly into the living room to partially hide behind the doorframe, still within earshot. Foggy shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, he usually defrosts after a while. Give it half an hour or so.”

Zale’s voices pipes up, “Dad, what’s defrost?”

Foggy laughs. “It’s when you take something out of the freezer and let it slowly warm up. It’s also called thawing.”

“But I’m not in the freezer.”

“No, you’re not,” he chuckles. “I’m just saying that you don’t need to hide. Matt’s harmless. I swear.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Matt quips.

“Okay, let’s go sit, shall we? Anything I can offer you? I think we have some soda left in the fridge.”

“That’s fine,” Matt says, and when Foggy comes back from the kitchen, they sit down on the couch. It’s a nice couch, Matt thinks. He can’t tell the color, but the fabric is sturdy and not too scratchy. It’s L-shaped and comfortable. In his mind’s eye it’s light gray, or maybe taupe.

They sip at their drinks, and Zale edges forward from behind the couch. “Dad, why is he wearing sunglasses? The sun’s not shining in here.”

Foggy explains, “ _He_ is called Matt, and he wears them because he’s blind.”

Zale seems a little confused. “Why?”

Foggy looks helplessly at Matt. “I’m gonna let you take that one.”

“Well, uh,” Matt stammers. How do you explain this to a five-year-old? “I was in an accident a long time ago, which damaged my eyes. I wear the glasses because some people think it’s strange that I can’t look them in the eyes.”

“Why?”

Oh boy. This is going to be a long afternoon. “Because I can’t see, so I can’t tell where your eyes are.”

“So if you can’t see, is it like at night? When everything’s dark?”

“No, it’s not always dark. Sometimes I see colors and shapes.”

“Hm,” Zale supplies, and Matt can tell he’s already thinking this through. “So how do you walk when you can’t see anything?”

“I have a walking cane. Maybe you saw it when I came in. It’s like an extension of my arm, so I can feel around, tell where things are. And of course I can also hear things. Probably better than you, actually.”

“Really? Like an owl? They can hear really well. Mrs. Doggett told us about them in kindergarten.”

“Oh, did she?”

Zale is getting excited now. “Yeah. They have, like… like, super-hearing!”

Matt can sense that Foggy’s hiding a smile.

“You know what?” Foggy tells his son in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think Matt can hear even better than an owl.”

“No,” Zale says like he’s not being fooled so easily. “No one can hear as well as an owl. That’s what Mrs. Doggett said.”

Foggy shrugs and looks at Matt. “Who’s to argue with Mrs. Doggett?”

“Can I see your eyes? Do they look strange?” Zale asks.

“I don’t know, I can’t see them,” Matt jokes, but he’s not sure if Zale gets it. He takes off his glasses and turns his head to where he thinks the boy is standing.

There’s a long moment of silence, and Foggy asks his son, “So, do you think they look strange?”

“Nah,” he replies. “They’re brown. Like my mom’s. But hers are darker.”

Zale climbs up on the couch and sits next to Matt. “I like your eyes,” he says. “Even if they’re broken.”

Matt can’t hide a grin. “Well, that’s good.”

“Can’t the doctors fix them? My grandpa had his eyes fixed. He got a transfant from a dead person. But I don’t know how it works that you can see with the eyes of a dead person. Maybe they can give you someone else’s eyes, too.”

Matt lets out a little laugh. “I think what was wrong with your grandpa’s eyes was different than what’s wrong with mine. What I have, it can’t be fixed. Not even with the eyes of a dead person.”

“Can I try your walking cane?” Zale asks.

Foggy’s voice takes on a chastising undertone. “Zale, Matt’s cane isn’t a toy. He needs it to get around.”

Matt interjects, “No, it’s fine, I can show him.” To Zale, he says, “But you need to be careful with it, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy agrees quickly.

Matt spends the next fifteen minutes, explaining to Zale how to hold the cane, how to tap it, how to detect objects, obstacles, and distances. The kid is a fast learner, and soon Matt and Foggy watch him stomping around Foggy’s living room with his eyes closed and Matt’s cane in front of him.

“Sorry about that,” Foggy says to Matt when Matt sits back down on the couch.

“Don’t worry about, Foggy. It’s fine. Really. More than fine.”

“Maybe it’s better he learns this from you.”

“So you didn’t tell him about any of this?”

“What’s there to tell? Just said that a friend of mine was coming to visit. Figured he’d better see for himself.”

“He’s a smart kid.”

“The best,” Foggy beams. “I think he likes you. He doesn’t usually get this chummy this fast.”

“Must be my irresistible charm.”

“That, or the wounded duck thing.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that works on kids.”

Zale bangs the cane against the shelf in the corner and book topples down. “Careful,” Foggy warns him.

Zale opens his eyes and walks back over to them, discarding the cane where he stands. “Matt?”

“Yes?”

Zale tugs at his sleeve. “Can I show you my room?”

“Oh, you have your own room, do you?”

“Yes,” he beams. “It has blue walls, and there’s a big spaceship picture on one of them. It’s really cool!”

“Zale, Matt can’t see pictures, remember?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m telling him. It’s really big, and the hull is gray, and it’s flying through the stars. Like the ones in the sky. They look like little white dots, and some have rays. Do you know what the stars are?”

Matt laughs again. “Yes, I know what stars are. I haven’t always been blind. I know what most things look like.”

“Okay,” Zale acknowledges, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Can you come look at my room?”

“Oh boy,” Foggy sighs in amusement.

Matt can’t stop smiling, and it’s the best feeling in the world. He never wants to leave.

Matt stays the whole afternoon. By the time they tuck Zale into bed, he’s been shown and explained every corner and major toy in the boy’s room. He’s built a Lego spaceship, run his hands over wax crayon pictures, played with Matchbox cars on the floor, and been told off for being useless at putting together jigsaw puzzles. And Matt loved every minute of it, even though he would probably never admit it to Foggy.

Before going to sleep, Zale wants Matt to read a story to him, and they have to explain how Braille works. Zale is adamant that Foggy buys children’s books in Braille so that they can do it the next time Matt comes to visit. Foggy assures him that he will get on it right the next day.

Foggy leaves the door ajar after they say goodnight to Zale, who seems content with how the day went. When they’re back in the living room, Foggy lets out an exhausted breath.

Matt says to his friend, “He’s quite a handful, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. But he’s also great. Best thing that ever happened to me. And by the looks of it, to you too. Dude, I’ve not seen you smile this much in the last three months combined.”

It’s true. Matt hasn’t really had a lot of things to smile about. “Yes, this is... new. Different. Good different.” He sobers, his voice sincere. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“For what? Letting you babysit my five-year-old?”

“No. For having me here. With him. That’s kind of a big deal. At least for me.”

“I have no regrets. Whatsoever. Like I said, he likes you. And that’s good enough for me. One thing, though.”

Matt inches his chin forward a little bit. He has a feeling he knows what’s coming. He stays quiet, lets Foggy say what he wants to say.

“The Daredevil thing. I don't want him exposed to any of it. At least until he’s old enough to understand.”

He hesitates, because these days it’s so hard to separate the two. He sighs heavily. “It’s part of who I am, you know?”

“Yeah, and I kinda get that. What I mean is the violence. All the bad things, the things of questionable morality. You know, the stuff not suitable for children.”

“I’m not sure there’s a G-rated version of Daredevil.”

“Perhaps not, but I want you to give your darndest to make yourself into one when you’re around him. Can you do that?”

Can he? It’s been a long time since he’s truly had to compartmentalize that way. “Yes, I can try.”

“And I swear to you, Murdock, if anything you do gets him hurt, I’m out of your life faster than Spiderman on steroids.”

“Don’t you think I’ve learnt my lesson when Karen died? I promise you I would never do anything to put your son in harm’s way.”

That seems good enough for Foggy. They spend the rest of the night with pizza, beer and a lot of talking. Matt is nicely buzzed by the time he gets back to his apartment. There’s a glow around him that he hasn’t felt for years. And it’s not just the alcohol in his system.

He doesn’t go out patrolling that night, because the city seems quiet. He’s thankful for small favors.

+-+-+-+-+

Zale Nelson is cute as a button, and Matt is sure Foggy makes it a point to have Matt around him as much as he can, although Foggy never says it out loud. They take Matt along to Central Park Zoo, the aquarium, sometimes the more routine activities. Matt is more than grateful, because he’s grown to adore the little guy.

Zale keeps peppering him with questions, wants to know everything about how life without light perception works. He learns quickly what’s okay and what’s not. Sometimes he pushes Foggy away when Matt takes his elbow, loudly announcing that he “wants to be Matt’s guide dog”. Zale’s little hand in Matt’s is always welcome.

It’s six months later when Foggy and Matt are standing on one of the Grand Central platforms, waiting for Zale’s mother Meghan to drop him off. It’s Foggy’s weekend with his son, and he’s in a good mood.

“You know what’s kind of amazing, Matt?” he asks as he leans in slightly.

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You know how Zale is now in one of the inclusive schools, right? He has a blind classmate, and he’s totally rocking the whole integration thing. I had a talk with his teacher last night, and she has nothing but praise to sing about how well he’s doing. He’s teaching the other kids about everything, from the walking cane to how Braille works, how to explain things, the whole nine yards.”

Foggy beams at him and adds, “And that’s all thanks to you, buddy. I couldn’t be more proud. Seriously, my heart’s swelling as we speak.”

“Of him or me?”

“Both of you, of course!”

“So what are you going to tell him when he realizes that I’m not exactly like any normal blind person?”

“Guess you’re gonna have to try extra hard to pretend you’re a normal blind person when you’re with him. You remember how that works, right? Lots of groping around, tripping, running into things…”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“See? Problem solved.”

The train rattles into the station, and all conversation stops for a minute because of the noise and commotion. Foggy lightly touches Matt’s arm to indicate that Meghan and Zale just got off a few coaches down from where they’re standing.

Zale comes running towards them, and Foggy scoops him up in his arms before he puts him down again. Zale sidles up to Matt and taps his leg. “Matt!” he beams.

“Hey, Zee,” he greets the boy, holding out his fist.

Zale fistbumps with him, giggling as he does.

Meghan walks up to them, and Foggy introduces her. It’s almost inevitable that she makes the common mistake of holding out her hand to Matt, but Zale quickly chastises her. “Mom, Matt is blind. He can’t see what you’re doing.”

So Matt does what he does, he puts on his most charming face, courteously dismisses the apology, and any awkwardness is quickly dispersed. He’s almost sure Foggy is rolling his eyes behind his back.

Zale almost automatically takes Matt’s hand to guide him through the dispersing crowd of people while Foggy and Meghan discuss the modalities of Zale’s stay with his father. They separate outside the station so she can take care of the errands that brought her to the city.

“Dad, can we take the bus? Please?”

Zale prefers busses to the subway for some reason, much to Foggy’s dismay. Matt doesn’t mind so much. The subway is overwhelming at the best of times. Perhaps that’s why Foggy indulges them both.

“Hey Zale?” Foggy asks his son as they walk towards the bus stop. “How about today we go check out Matt’s apartment?”

“Really? Cool! Does he live far away?”

“No, it’s very close. It’s in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Zale seems to ponder that for a while. “Why does Matt live in a kitchen?”

They both chuckle, and Foggy explains, “It’s not a real kitchen. It’s just how they call that area of town. You know how I live in Brownsville? It’s like that, only where Matt lives, it’s a part of Manhattan.”

“Does the devil live there, too?”

He does, thinks Matt. In a way. But not one he can readily explain to Zale, so he settles for something a little more child-friendly. “I don’t think anyone really knows where the devil lives. I can’t imagine he’d like living in a noisy city like New York. And it’s gets too cold here in the winter, don’t you think?”

Zale nods in zealous acknowledgement, but he’s not yet convinced. “Why is it called Hell’s Kitchen if it’s not hell, and not a kitchen?”

That stumps both Matt and Foggy. It’s Foggy who answers, “You know, that’s a _really_ good question. And we’ll need to look that up later, because I honestly don’t know.”

The bus ride takes a good while, and Zale is practically glued to the window the whole time. He chatters on about what goes on out there, because, hey, Matt can’t see it, and Zale wants him to share in the experience. It’s kinda cute, and Matt loves listening to the prattle. Foggy stays quiet, because when Matt is around, Dad becomes just a little less interesting. Matt has a feeling Foggy doesn’t really mind too much.

When they get to Matt’s apartment, Zale runs in, fueled by curiosity.

“Wow, it’s really big!” he marvels. He starts exploring every nook and cranny, his interest particularly piqued by the old, coiled up fire hose in the corner.

“Is this a fire house?” Zale asks.

“No, but it used to be one, a long time ago. Then they made it into apartments that people can live in. That’s why everything’s so big,” Matt explains.

“Can you make water come out of the hose?”

Foggy cuts in, “Zale, I don’t think that thing works anymore.”

Zale pouts a little. “Can I pull on it?”

“No, you can’t. Leave it alone, please,” Foggy says, his tone a little sharper now.

Matt gets up to diffuse a possibly imminent fight before it can start. He joins Zale by the fire hose. “Here, why don’t you try to move it?”

Zale’s little hands grab the wheel on one side and he tries to pull, but it won’t budge. Matt knew this, of course. Zale’s voice is a little whiny. “Can you help me?”

“I can try, but you know what? I think they secured it so it can’t be moved anymore. It’s really old, and maybe it’ll break if we try. I think we should just leave it alone. What do you think?”

“Okay,” Zale finally acquiesces and goes on to explore more of Matt’s apartment.

When Matt joins Foggy in one of the armchairs, Foggy comments, “Smooth, Murdock.”

He shrugs. “Hey, I only learned from the best.”

“Who, me? Dude, I don’t have the slightest clue how any of this works. I’m just making it up as we go.”

“Isn’t that basically the definition of parenting?”

“Ha, I think you may be onto something.”

“And it looks as if you’re doing something right. He’s a pretty great kid.”

“To be fair, probably eighty percent of the credit has to go to Meghan.”

“I’d argue fifty. Sixty at best,” Matt counters.

Zale joins them again, having found nothing of interest in the bedroom. He sidles up to Foggy and squeezes against his legs. “Daaad?”

“Zaaale?” Foggy echoes.

Zale lowers his voice. “Can I draw something?”

Foggy nods. “Sure. Did you bring your paper and pens?”

Zale nods enthusiastically, and Foggy points at Matt’s round table by the kitchen counter. “Why don’t you go set up at the table over there?”

“Okay,” Zale agrees, and off he goes to find his backpack.

Foggy helps him get everything in order and gets two beers from the fridge on the way. Matt leans back against the backrest and enjoys the cool, bitter taste on his tongue. It feels like old times. Almost.

Foggy talks a lot about his new job these days. He’s a lawyer for a small pharmaceutical company now. Nice colleagues, decent working hours. He enjoys going there, and likes the challenge of something new to dig his heels into. Most days, Matt has no idea what Foggy’s talking about when he mentions informed consent forms and clinical site agreements and serious adverse event claims. But he doesn’t mind, because Foggy’s happy. Matt is always happier when Foggy’s happy.

At some point, Zale clambers off the chair and walks over to his father, whispering something in his ear. Matt tries not to eavesdrop, and Foggy can probably tell, because he lifts a finger at him and says, “Murdock? This is a private conversation. You need to focus your attention elsewhere for a moment, okay? No cheating.”

Matt laughs lightly. “No cheating, I promise.”

While Foggy goes to help Zale with something at the table, Matt concentrates on the noise outside, thinks he can hear a cab stopping in front of the pawn shop two buildings over. The passenger argues over the fare with the driver. It’s getting ugly fast, and Matt wishes he’d picked something a little more innocuous. He moves on to someone fastening their bike to a—

There’s a hand on his knee, and Zale’s voice pulls him back to this reality. He’s holding something in his hands—a large piece of paper. “This is for you,” Zale proudly proclaims.

Matt takes it from him, and Zale adds, “I know you can’t see it, but that’s why I also made it for blind people.” He takes Matt’s hand and guides it across the paper.

Matt can feel little bumps in the paper, dots that connect to thin lines. He runs his fingers along them, and he can make out actual shapes.

“Oh wow,” he tells Zale. “Is this a tree?”

“Yeah. It’s a forest. There’s more than one.”

Matt keeps exploring. “Yeah, I can feel it now. And there’s people here. Two tall ones and a smaller one. You with your mom and Foggy?”

Zale giggles a little bit. “Why do you keep calling him Foggy? Everyone calls him Franklin.”

Matt cracks a smile. “It’s his nickname. That’s what he was called when we became friends. To me, he will always be Foggy.”

Matt’s finger traces more of the lines. “Wait, this isn’t your mom, is it?”

“No, it’s you. With your cane.”

“Yeah, that’s how I was able to tell. That’s really cool, Zale. Thank you so much!”

Zale’s hand takes his finger and directs it to the corner of the picture. “There’s more here.”

Matt runs his fingers over more small bumps, and then realizes it’s Braille. Or at least something close enough for him to make out actual words. It’s coarse and uneven, but it says, “to matt from zale.”

Matt reads it out loud, and his smile widens. “Wow, Zale, this is amazing. That’s the best drawing I’ve ever gotten. Does it have colors, too?”

“Yes, but they’re not like here. The trees are red. Because it’s an alien planet.”

“Really? So what’s that like? Does it have strange animals?”

Zale climbs onto Matt’s lap and launches into a long, animated explanation about space critters and dangerous wood spiders with twelve legs and vicious teeth that they need to look out for. Matt spins a tale of how they defend themselves with Matt’s walking cane and Foggy’s alien superweapon. Zale laughs with abandon and supplies his own little plot twists. It’s a pretty good story.

“Hey, we should make that into a children’s book,” Foggy comments.

“Yay!” Zale cheers. “And then we become super rich and we’ll live in a big house like Alec Kaplan.”

Matt briefly wonders how Zale knows the name of the rather dubious but well-known modern TV star, but, hey, the kid’s in school now. Probably picks up all kinds of pop culture references there.

Foggy says sarcastically, “Yeah, that’s been my lifelong dream, living like Alec Kaplan.”

“Dad, you’re no fun.”

“Nope. Don’t you know dads aren’t supposed to be fun?”

“Can I stay here with Matt tonight?”

The question is a little out of the blue, and Foggy looks questioningly at Matt. Who is about to say it’s fine by him, but Foggy interjects before he can speak. “You know what? Not tonight, okay? But maybe next time.”

Zale draws a pouty face again, and Matt isn’t sure what to say. “Yeah, we’ll make it extra cool next time.”

“How?”

“I… don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Can we do a pillow fort? Dad makes the best pillow forts!”

“Sure,” Matt agrees, not sure he even has enough pillows. “We’ll make the best alien pillow fort we can.”

It’s Foggy who cuts in, “And we actually need to get going, Zale-o.”

“But I don’t wanna.”

“Oh, I know. But Matt here has some things he needs to do, so we need to let him do them. Isn’t that right, Matt?”

Matt can read the cues. “Yes. I’m sorry, Zale. But we’ll do the fort next time. I promise.”

Foggy is already packing up Zale’s drawing utensils and helps Zale into his jacket. Foggy gives Matt a good-natured pat on the shoulder. Matt crouches down to Zale to say goodbye.

“Okay, Zee. I’ll see you next time, all right?”

He holds out his fist again, and Zale bumps it. “Bye, Matt.”

Matt reaches out with his hearing and follows them down the stairs for a little bit. Another smile tugs at his lips, and he goes to the armchair to pick up the drawing. It is literally the best drawing he’s ever gotten. Well, it’s the only drawing he’s ever gotten, but he can’t imagine anything better in the whole wide world.

He tries to imagine where would be a good place to put it. His fridge doesn’t have any magnets. For now, he puts it on the shelf by the living room wall. He’ll have to ask Foggy the next time he visits to choose a proper place, one that will do it the justice it deserves.

Because having Foggy and Zale in his life means more to him than he could ever put into words. He sends a quick prayer to the guy up above. Perhaps there is redemption for him in this world after all.

+-+-+-+-+

THE END.


End file.
